


survival of the heartless

by InvadingThoughts



Series: saying hello with a gun [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Brief Implied Attempted Sexual Assault, Death, Fighting, First Meetings, GTAV AU, Gen, Guns, Minor Violence, Murder, No Main Charater deaths tho, Past Drug Use, Sass, Swearing, Threats, Tyler a bitter criminal, Violence, but nothing actually happens, its just one line that hints at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5688802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InvadingThoughts/pseuds/InvadingThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was stupid to believe that he was ever going to be safe.</p><p>It just wasn't something achievable, more like an illusion that kept you distracted; a hopeless pipe-dream that got people killed. Tyler was smarter than that though, smart enough that he'd quickly learned that he needed to adapt to his world. </p><p>His city talked and he listened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	survival of the heartless

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic for my gtav au, with plenty more on the way. I will be writing little snapshots (with a possible full length fic too), so keep an eye out for more! Hope you enjoy & let me know what you think!
> 
> & (if you want) catch me over on tumblr @zeroyalchilly to see more of my headcanons about this au :D 
> 
> <3

It was stupid to believe that he was _ever_ going to be safe.

It just wasn't something achievable, more like an illusion that kept you distracted; a hopeless pipe-dream that got people _killed_. Tyler was smarter than that though, smart enough that he'd quickly learned that he needed to adapt to his world. His city talked and he listened. The blood stains on the side walk screamed warnings at him and the shadows demanded that he always stay on guard. It forced him to develop an edge of paranoia and it seeped into everything he did- everything he was. The constant looks he threw over his shoulder, the quickened pace he set and the black pistol that sat tucked into the waist of his jeans. Everything he was, was built around the idea of self preservation and that was how it had to stay.

Tyler had seen the consequences of going soft, of losing that edge that kept you sharp and in control. It terrified him to think that he could end up like that one day, weak and useless; vulnerable in a city that tried to cut out your heart while you slept.

He'd somehow managed to make it to eighteen before he was forced to take someone's life in exchange for his own. To pull the trigger on a gun that wasn't even his, to hear that deafening blast and watch the blood trickle out of a lifeless body. He may have looked weak at eighteen, but on that night Tyler realised that he was anything but. He was the burn in his lungs as he sprinted from that dark alley, he was the blood splatter on his face as he cleaned himself off under one of the public showers on the beach.

He was the silver pistol that sat in the back of his waist band, one less bullet in its chamber; left behind, lodged in the chest of a man who had tried to take Tyler's innocence by force.

It was a memory that Tyler both _hated_ and _loved_ to remember. To think back on _the_ moment that made him who he'd become- who he was- and yet the same moment that had taken his future and replaced it with something way more darker. Something that made the situation he was currently in commonplace; a knife pressed against the curve of his spine and a hand covering his mouth.

He'd been in this position so many times before, that Tyler couldn't help the grin that blossomed, hidden behind his captor's hand; his lips brushing against their skin in a manor that seemed way to personal, something that was just reserved for lovers.

Tyler didn't have lovers; he had rough, hard consensual sex with strangers who left him bruised and bleeding. Never with the same person twice and always somewhere dark, all so Tyler didn't have to see all of the scars that littered his body.

"Where are they?" The voice growled into his ear and the anger in laced in the words made Tyler's grin grow wider.

He hummed lowly in the back of his throat, pursing his lips slightly before he cockily replied, "Oh, ain't it obvious? You mustn't be the smartest thug on the streets then, if such an easy question leaves you so fucking confused. Tsk tsk, and here I thought you were going to be a challenge." 

His words were somewhat mumbled by the hand covering his mouth, but he knew that the thug had heard him when he felt the blade press harder into his back.It cut into his skin and Tyler was sure he'd have another scar by the time the night ended, but it was just another one to add to his never ending list.

"Fucking _bitch_ , I'm going to rip your throat out. Tell me where the rest of your crew are before I slid this knife into your fucking back and rip out your spine," they spat and Tyler quickly realised the voice belonged to a man. A man whose hand had dropped from covering his mouth to squeeze at his throat. He felt the burn in his lungs increase as he struggled to breathe, the man's fingers skilfully wrapping around his windpipe and Tyler realised he'd underestimated the criminal.

"I'm alone," Tyler gasped, fingers raising up to grip at the man's hands. He tried to pry at the fingers- an attempt to get air back into his body and brain- but it proved futile.

"Liar," he hissed, digging his fingers into Tyler's skin roughly before slamming him into the concrete wall to his left. He felt his skull smack against the concrete and his vision blurred and Tyler huffed a bitter laugh as he stared back at the masked man who had managed to render him weak. Something he'd desperately tried to avoid since the day after his eighteenth birthday, the memory of a strangers hands up his shirt and a leg forced between his thighs.

The day he killed someone for the first time, but definitely not the last.

He silently wondered how the guy would react if Tyler just suddenly vomited on him, since the memory brought a sudden rush of bile up his throat.

Tyler opened his mouth- to do what though, he didn't really know- since the guy holding the knife to his stomach had already decided that Tyler was a dead man and he _doubted_ that he had any charm left to change his mind. He briefly looked forward to the moment that everything would just end, before the idea was violently ripped away from him when he heard the gunshot sound echo down the dimly lit alley.

He felt the body collapse against him, knocking the little air he had out of his lungs and the force of it pushed the blade of the knife further into his stomach. He let the thug lay there on top of him as he gasped for his life, head swiveling around like a meerkat as he tried to find the source of the gunshot.

It didn't matter who they were, who had saved him... Tyler needed them gone. 

The people in this city didn't involve themselves in fights that took place in the dark, they had no motivation to get themselves killed for someone else and Tyler often agreed with them. Strangers didn't help strangers, he'd learnt that early on; every time a rich white man in a suit had walked passed him on the street- back when he was younger and alone, stuck sleeping behind dumpsters and eating whatever he could get his hands on- whenever they deliberately ignored his pleas for help or for money, when they looked right through him.

That's when he realised that strangers didn't exist unless you _needed_ something from them and the person who had saved him had just broken the golden rule. _They were going to be in for a surprise_ , he mused as he pushed the body away and gripped at the knife. He tugged it out of his stomach and grimaced at the burst of pain that jolted through him. It wasn't hard to ignore the bleeding wound as he pushed himself away from the wall, he'd gone through worse for longer and Tyler needed to tie up loose ends first before he patched himself up.

"Who's out there?" He called out, deliberately adding a soft edge to his voice. It wouldn't do him well to confront his savior head on just yet, they'd just disappear and Tyler would lose his chance. He didn't need someone out there in this corrupt city believing that Tyler owed them, all because they'd managed to save his shitty life.

He heard the shuffling of feet before he saw them, but the approaching figure quickly caught his attention and Tyler tensed. His hand hovered over the pistol that was attached to his waistband, fingers itching to pull it out and aim it at the other.

"You alright?" The figure whispered back, and it surprised Tyler to hear the genuine concern in his voice. That was new.

"Hmm," he hummed back, letting his eyes trail around the alley. His guard was up- like always- scanning for anything that screamed at him to run. He'd made the mistake of ignoring his instincts earlier, stupidly letting himself get jumped by the now _dead_ thug. It was pathetic, mainly because Tyler didn't make many mistakes _anymore_. He'd become used to the art of surviving on the streets and everything else was just a replay of something that had happened last week- last month even.

Nothing ever changed for him in this city, he was still the same person; that same hitman that killed people for not only the money but for the reputation. He was _Wildcat_ , a criminal that would kill you without hesitation if you got in his way. That was probably the reason why life didn't seem as valuable to him anymore, since he'd taken out more than enough people to know that he could die any second. Making plans for the future was foolish and it just made it easier to get hurt.

"I don't know why you're out this late, it isn't safe- pretty far from it actually. But... that's your business. Anyway, I'm Brock," the man smiled, extending his hand into the space between them. Tyler flinched at the movement, quickly drawing his gun and aiming the barrel right between the boy's eyes. The few seconds that followed were tense, but with Brock's eyes widened in fear and Tyler's open wound, it was hard for Wildcat to decide what to do next.

He _could_ kill Brock, no remorse or regret; just another body to join the one behind him. It seemed like the smarter idea, but his train of thought was quickly derailed when Brock spoke.

"Don't... please. I-I'm unarmed, my guns in my car and its the only weapon I have. I-I'm no threat to you." He begged, slowly moving his hands to hold them out, away from his body. Tyler watched him closely, arm never wavering as he held his gun. He looked pathetically scared, body trembling hard as he stared at the gun aimed at his face. He _looked_ scared, but something about him was sending off warning signs and Tyler squinted his eyes.

"Well... Who shot him then?" He growled as he glared at Brock; not for one second believing the act he was hiding behind.

Brock's body language switched instantly.

A quite, exasperated sigh slipped past his lips- almost as if he were _annoyed_ at Tyler for calling him out- and he quickly reached for something tucked into the back of his jeans. He raised his arm- and pointed a golden gun at Tyler's chest. Brock licked his lips slowly, before tilting his head to the side and the look in his eyes told Tyler that he'd played this game before.

He'd played before and _won_.

"Seems we're at an impasse," Brock replied, watching Tyler with an eyebrow raised. Everything about him screamed danger, from the way he effortlessly remained in control- even with a gun aimed at his head- to how he grinned when Wildcat stayed quiet. "So, what's your name, hmm? Seems only fair you tell me, since I did just _save_ your life," He asked, almost way to casually.

"Tyler-" he began, but Brock quickly cut him off.

"Nah, not your birth name, I'm not interested in that. I want to know your _real_ name," he argued and Tyler snorted.

"Oh, fuck off, dickhead. Brock ain't your _real_ name, so don't start giving me shit for answering your question. You get what you earn, not what you want,"

"I'll earn it then," Brock laughed and again he extended his free hand into the space between them- and _again_ Tyler flinched, "Moo Snuckel, your turn."

Tyler rolled his eyes and huffed, reaching out to shake Moo's hand before pulling the other man in close, "Ah, the ex-junkie who's currently fucking around with a bunch of misfit criminals. Wildcat, is that enough to quell your curiosity or do you fucking want to know my blood type too?" He spat, voice filled with contempt as he let go of Brock's hand.

"Ah, the heartless hitman who's currently talked about as if he's an untouchable God, when he's _really_ just a scared little orphan. And I _know_ what I am, I've made peace with my mistakes, Tyler. Have you?" Brock bit back. 

Tyler held his gaze, "I don't make _mistakes_ ," he hissed back and Brock just smiled. He opened his mouth as if he were about to speak and Tyler didn't let up his gaze, missing the way Moo's arm moved from beside him. Moo bent his arm back- still holding his gun- and then whacked it against the side of Tyler's head. 

The shock hurt more than the gun actually did.

" _Everyone_ makes mistakes," Brock mumbled back, watching as Tyler stumbled slightly- hands clutching desperately at his head- before turning to leave. 

Tyler let a groan slip past his lips, watching with blurred vision as Brock disappeared from his sight and he quickly realised that Brock could've hit him a lot _harder_ than what he did.

He just didn't understand _why_ he'd held back.

 


End file.
